As the buoyant Pacific tourists exploded at the crucial speed towards the idyllic surrounds of the Damazan ground in their modified De Lorean DMC-12, they flashed past an aged wooden ark beached on the shore of the lake and a group of grey-haired types standing by a field of corn.

“Great Scott!” cried an aged local. “Marty!” he shouted at Pacific’s baby-faced allrounder Adam Long for a reason not apparent to anyone else.

And the Pacific tourists slowly came round to the idea that they’d GONE BACK IN TIME, to a long-forgotten world of caravans, arks and grey-haired people. Webley unpeeled his hands from the sticky rubber steering wheel of the DeLorean and looked down at the Flux Capacitor – it was reading EMPTY. “How are we going to get back to the future without any juice?” he shrieked.

Just passing by the car was a frantic-looking Damazan local, his shock of white hair quivering in the breeze, his face fixed in a permanently surprised state. “Great Scott!”

He stared, transfixed, at Adam, “Marty!”

“I’m not Martin Cowling, he doesn't play for us any more!” said Adam. “But, anyway, our flux capacitor’s out of plutonium and we’ve got no more here.”

“Don't worry,” said the professorial character, “as long as you hit that wire with the connecting hook – over there by the changing rooms – at precisely 80 runs lead, the instant the lightning strikes the sightscreen... everything will be fine!”

“Yaay!” cried the tourists, “let’s get cricketing!”

Yaay, cried the reader, enough of this crap!

The game

After winning the toss and electing to bat on the astroturf wicket in the light rain, captain Webley sent Oli Haill and Matt Patel in. Without pause, Haill blithely set about smacking and spanking the Damazan bowling, making hay while the nearby cornfield swayed in the zephyr. Three balls into his innings Patel departed to the slips for a duck and hip-hop head James Smith was summoned to the crease.

Although they may have been expecting his usual whirlwind innings, Pacific tourists were treated to a faultless exhibition of half-volley blocking and long-hop nurdling from Smith, as he laid anchor at his unfamiliar position higher up the order and . He was joined by stylish strokemaker Sammy Purcell after Haill was removed, eyes and bat pointing to the sky, middle stump pointing at the horizon.

Purcell, a young b-boy himself, soon fell into rhythm and the ground was soon ringing with the percussive sounds of leather on willow. Purcell’s shots were as effortlessly elegant as a Slick Rick rhyme and often followed up with his traditional flourishing ‘action-replays’. At the other end, Smith was building an innings like a west-coast beat, reassuringly slow and steady but mixed with a few low-riding thumps towards the rope.

As Purcell fell to one uppish shot too many, after having added 70 with Smith, Mighty Matt Callendar arrived and then soon departed after his trademark hockey-hoik got him a tour-best 4. Then came the Chandler – pectorals presumably bristling with excitement under his poor shirt – and he, Long and Webley all skillfully played their way into the mid 20s, pushing the score on nicely. Amidst that Smith was defeated, bowled after increasing calls from the captain for a more aggressive approach had been followed. His excellent 67 came of just 51 balls, including one six over cover-point.

(During the innings, in one of his navel-gazing moods, the ever self-absorbed Mr Chandler was heard to reflect that ‘it’s a bit of a worry, isn’t it, that the opposition are in their 60s and 70s and this is probably my main sport?)

So, 213 was reached in Pacific’s 40 overs and tea was taken. Had he been there, PCC gourmand James Gleadow would probably have described it as ’a good tea’.

Then, to remind you, the tourists needed to win by 80 runs to guarantee returning to their future. To help bring this about, Webley opened the bowling with young Long up the hill and himself into the wind. They conceded just 29 ruins but failed to make any breakthroughs.

Needing wickets, the captain turned to what the history books confirm is the club's most lethal bowler, Peter Hollman, and the bowler with the most controversial action, Conrad Chuckler. Chandler's wardrobe malfunctions wewre equally contentious, extending to him needing to change shoes with Cap'n Fudd and going topless on the boundary, no less.

Twice the ball was pulled fine off Hollman directly over the head of Pacific's twelfth fielder (an agreement was made with Damazn, they did the same) Teddy Haywood, who had bowed to cricket formalities and was wearing white rather his favourite lime green blazer. Hollman eventually got his man, inducing the Frenchies' opener into driving loftily to Long at mid off. Chandler then clean bowled Damzan's Dutch master Wijning for a first baller.

Then, as Webley rotated his youthful attack, each bowler (Smith, Callender and Haill) removing one of Damazan's veteran nurdlers with a subtle blend of faultless length, incisive line and unpickable slower balls. Kurt 'Radio 1093' Rademaker even managed to pick up a deuce, including dangerous local wine merchant Vasey for 50.

In the last over, as dark clouds loomed over the ground, cracking their thunderous knuckles with intent, Pacific needed to give away just one run in order for the tourists to have any chance of returning to their what they knew as the present. Luckily with the bat in his hand for the oldies was none other than the septuagenarian local scientist - he knew what had to be done and, despite the short and wide dross he received from Haill, he managed to nick the required single and no more.

"Quick," he cried as the final ball was bowled, "get the DeLorean!" Lightning rumbled in the near distance, as the old man climbed a ladder to the top of the sightscreen to link up the wire. The tourists clambered into their DeLoren (yes, all of them – come on, willing suspension of disbelief) and drove round into a suitable position.

On a signal from the white-haired local Webley jammed his foot to the floor and aimed the car straight at the sightscreen, as he neared his target the old man linked the scoreboard with its crucial 80-run lead and sightscreen and jumped back just as the car screamed towards him. The tourists covered their eyes and heard a massive explosion – Webley slammed on the breaks and they looked out of the condensated windows (Conrad had let slip another of his fetid deliveries during the drama) – they were back in the future! 2006! Great Scott!

DWAGs report

The players' charming daughters, wives and girlfriends enjoyed a day out shopping in historic Bergerac. Katie bought a chic French jacket and Chloe a £100 handbag.